From the Ashes We Rise
by Anna Kruczynski
Summary: Warden Amell tries to rebuild her life at the Tower after Alistair got married. Rating M for language and sexual content. This is my first big fic so all constructive criticism is welcome.
1. The Prince, the Witch and the Wardog

**N/A:** Jaleth was too much of a whiner in the first draft so I cut a but of the drama out in this rewrite. I'm happier with the second draft.

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><p>"I am proud of you child," Wynne said, patting the back of her companion's hand.<p>

The expression in her eyes was composed of something more than pride alone, it had a hint of pity in it, mixed with a very well hidden 'I told you so.'

"I don't know," Jaleth replied, staring into the distance.

The Great Hall was crowded with people from all over the nation, representatives, old friends and new allies, all coming out to great the King and his new bride. It was the last place on Thedas she wanted to be right now, but she was still there, next to Wynne in the window-sill, regarding the festivities in silence.

They both had their reasons for staying away from the crowd. Being a mage was the only one they shared.

"It's just – I don't know."

Jaleth seemed to trip over her own tongue every time she tried opening her mouth, and she was sure it had something to do with the smell of the wedding cake, the fabric of the dress and the fact that Alistair finally managed to avoid stepping on the toes of the woman he was dancing with.

She rather addressed an entire army, or some stubborn politician than to utter another word at this party tonight.

She did not need much words with Wynne though. They had spend so much time on the road together that it was not hard to guess what was going on inside the younger mage's head. Wynne had been there all along, from the very first blush on Jaleth's cheeks until Alistair's clumsy attempt of telling her he loved her with a half dead rose in his trembling hand.

A lot had changed since then and the man who was placed in the centre of attention today, bore no resemblance to the stammering half prince she had met at the Circle Tower three years ago.

He had aged and with it matured, or at least that was what it looked like when the public eye was set on him. To Jaleth he was still the handsome clumsy man she had met in Ostagar, all those years ago.

Her eyes were firmly set on the newly weds, and they had been lingering on the pair for some time now. They looked happy, radiant. They looked like proper royalties.

Her trust in Alistair had not been misplaced. He had mastered the ways of the court in a very short period of time. Sure, he was still falling of his horse and he had the table manners of a mad man, but the people loved him and his charismatic innocence allowed him to build bridges between sworn enemies. She had been there, always on the sideline, smiling at him when Leliana tried teaching him how to smile like a noble man, sparring with him every time the bureaucracy of court life frustrated him and listening to him when politics drove him mad. She was sure that he would have managed just fine without her, but she took what he was able to give she had fallen even more in love with him until the day he uttered six dreaded words with a mug of ale in his hand. "Fall out of love with me."

She had smacked the mug out of his hand and into the stone wall, told him to piss off and spend the rest of the night in the dark with several bottles of Antivan wine as her only company.

"You're staring."

"I know."

Jaleth could not get her mind off the things Alistair had said to her just after the Landsmeet, she could not drive the tormented expression out of her mind when he watched his mug dissolve into a million shattered pieces on the cold stone floor.

Love did not simply disappear because he told her to make it so.

"I guess you saw this coming when you gave me that lecture back at camp," Jaleth mumbled.

Wynne's serene smile slowly disappeared as she placed a hand on top of Jaleth's.

"As did you my dear."

The warmth of Wynne's hand calmed her down a little. She focused on the softness of it and counted the wrinkles on the skin that almost looked transparent in wintertime. For a moment she was four years old again and resting at her nan's side while she listened to the ticking of long forgotten knitting needles.

The laughter of a party guest brought her back to the cold reality of the packed castle hall. Her nan was gone. Alistair was gone.

She turned her eyes toward the dance floor again where Alistair was doing his best to remember the steps Leliana had taught him in the courtyard. She looked at the concentrated look on his face, his movements were clumsy but charming and his bride seemed to appreciate the effort.

"Letting go – it was the right thing to do," Jaleth said as she swooped a drink from a passing platter.

"Is that a statement or a question child?"

She took her eyes of Alistair and closed them as she listened to the voices around her. She could hear them congratulating each other with the beautiful bride from Highever, praising Arl Eamon with his impeccable taste.

It was the Arl, Alistair's godfather who had arranged it all. The old man had been pestering Alistair about a bride ever since he took his brother's throne, and he made it very clear it was not going to be a circle mage. It was not that the Arl did not like Jaleth, there had been a time where he had actually been quite fond of her. But that time soon passed when he noticed the sideways glances she shared with the young King when the people around them were too busy concentrating on their plates or their battle plans.

"I feel ridiculous in this dress," Jaleth said, breaking the silence between them.

"I know exactly what you mean. Maker, I can barely breath in this corset." Wynne shifted her weight as she let out a small sigh.

"Do you reckon we got fat?" Jaleth mumbled while she held her breath to check out her stomach.

"Yes, very. You two should start running after Darkspawn again, it worked wonders for your dress sizes." They turned to where the remark was coming from and stared into the two hazel eyes belonging to the king.

"Alistair Theirin, the King of smirks," she said as she got up to greet him with a curtsy.

"It still cracks me up when you do that."

"My king," she grinned.

He looked stunning in his royal armour. It was the armour Cailan wore before him, Maric's armour.

She brushed some wedding cake from his lip.

"There, you look like a proper king now, a proper one."

"Yes, and a spitting image of my father, according to some of the 'relics' in this room."

It was the first time he had set eyes on her at a close distance since the festivities started, as she had been skilfully avoiding him all day. He had spotted her in the crowd straight away of course, looking stunning in her olive green dress while she smirked at the empress of Orlais or argued politics with the Knight Commander of Ferelden.

"Look at you," Alistair smiled, taking both of her hands in his "you dried up nicely."

He only let go of her hands because Wynne kept clearing her throat until she got their attention. "I have to leave you two alone for a minute," she muttered. "Zevran seems to be seducing my chambermaid."

"Thanks for that Wynne, subtlety still isn't one of your virtues I see," Alistair smiled when the older mage started to walk away from them. He brushed a hand through his golden hair, swallowing harder then intended. The ring Jaleth had given him had been replaced by a piece of jewellery he now shared with the complete stranger he called his wife.

She looked at him as if she expected him to speak. Which he felt obliged to do after that.

"So uhm, Wynne told me you are going back to the circle. I am.. I don't know what to say. I was under the impression that you didn't like it much over there, since you're always nagging me about closing the place down and, you know, I was kind of hoping you would stay and..."

She pressed her finger against his lips.

"Try breathing in between sentences my dear."

His hazel eyes were looking to find something familiar in her facial expression, something she tried hiding from him by erecting a stone wall, but something that was still there when she pressed her finger against his mouth.

The familiarity in her touch brought a warm feeling to his chest and she acknowledged it too by stepping away from him.

"Right..." he said as she widened the distance between them. "I just..."

"The Circle needs me more than you do Alistair."

"Thanks."

"You know what I mean."

She grabbed another glass of wine from the tray that walked passed them and waited for him to say something. He didn't.

"And anyway, it's not like I am going to stay there forever, just for the time being. Who knows what will happen after that."

The wall was there again. He had seen it right after the Landsmeet, after he had told her they could no longer be together in front of all of their friends. She had pleaded with him not to end things, but had been too angry to listen and after that she had just started stacking bricks on top of each other.

"Duty calls right?"

She blushed when she said it.

"Duty," he repeated. "Right...I guess I deserved that."

The music changed, it slowed down a little. People were getting tired and needed a breather.

"I'll cock it up without you," Alistair said, "I know I will."

She emptied her glass before replying. All the alcohol in Thedas could not save her now.

"You'll do fine."

He sighed, defeat. He used to sigh like that when Wynne told him to darn his own god damn socks. He looked so beautiful, even when he was retreating.

"You're probably right, but still, I'd rather have your help, you know, just like old times, when I just followed you around, that was so much more fun."

"It was fun, wasn't it?"

He looked at her as she placed her empty glass in the window sill; this was goodbye. He could see it in everything. It was in her gestures, in her eyes even in the tone of her voice. He knew her too well. She was about to take a bow and exit the stage.

"Go celebrate Alistair," she sighed, "get an heir, be happy."

"All right, all right, no need to get pushy my dear."

"It's your wedding day Alistair, might as well try to enjoy it."

He looked at her with the saddest eyes she ever saw. A small boy in a grown ups armour. He was the saddest groom she had ever seen.

"You have a stubborn hairline."

"A what?"

"A stubborn hairline," she repeated as she ran her fingers through his hair. She only realized the intimacy behind the act when his cheeks flushed a bright pink again and she retracted her hand.

It was strange that some things you were so used to doing, turn into things you used to do. It was inappropriate for her to touch her king like that.

"Yes – so uhm, when are you leaving?"

"Well," she replied, trying her best to avoid his eyes, "Irving and Wynne will go back tot he Tower tomorrow so I figured I might as well tag along."

"Wow you are serious aren't you."

"You know me," she said, "run first, think later."

She conjured up half a smile, her enchanting one, while Alistair did his best to swallow the enormous lump that got stuck somewhere half way down his throat.

"Well than," he sighed, "since it's my wedding day and I am the King and all, you won't refuse me when I ask you for one last dance."

"I'm a lousy dancer."

"I know, I've seen you do the happy dance with Oghren once – it was not a pretty sight."

The serious look on her face made him smile again and he grinned as he took her by the hand before she was able to protest. They quickly disappeared in a vast stream of people only to become a part of it.

It was exhilarating, the speed with which he swept her of her feet.

He pulled her close for a second, his forehead resting against hers while the crowd was too busy to notice them.

"I love you," he said, "you know that right? I will always love you."

She concentrated on the warmth of his hand holding hers, his scent, the feeling of his stub against her cheek when he spun her around the room without expecting an answer.

"I just wanted you to know that."


	2. How to cure a Hangover

**N/A: **I've cut quite a bit in this chapter because I felt like I was dragging it on too long. Rewritten December 9th, 2013

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><p>"Ah there you are!" Ohgren said as found Jaleth draped over the balustrade like a rag doll. She had been standing at the exact same balcony when the entire nation had come out to greet their 'Hero of Ferelden.' Oghren had been there, smirking by her side, the brand new captain of the guard.<p>

He didn't think it was possible but she looked even more tired now than she had done after conquering the Blight. Her eyes held a certain kind of sadness he had only seen in in the eyes of people who attended funerals, and he was pretty sure that they were attending a wedding today.

"I have looked sodding everywhere for you," he said as he pat her on the back a little too hard. It still surprised him, the lack of resilience in a human body, the long limbs and the fragile spine. He seemed to be breaking her in half every time he gave her an amicable pat on the shoulder, his fluffy long limbed commander.

"I needed some air."

She looked down the bottom of her empty glass as it dangled over the balustrade, unable to recall the amount of times it had been emptied and refilled.

He belched and then smiled before joining her at the balustrade. He was wobbly, but that was no surprise considering he had started drinking at breakfast. According to Oghren it was a perfectly normal dwarven tradition to be pissed at weddings and funerals, and this wedding was a bit of both.

"Are you drunk?" she asked, raising an eyebrow and looking slightly intoxicated herself.

"Hah! Now what kind of a stupid question is that?"

"The rhetorical kind."

"Now now, there's no need for swearing words commander."

She turned her head away from him with a smile and stared into the distance a little. Nothing was interesting enough to catch her eyes for longer than a couple of seconds. Nothing but the man in the lion armour anyway.

"Are you all right?" the dwarf asked as he moved a little closer to her. He had the grace of a Hurlock and the subtlety of an Ogre, but she appreciated what he was trying to do.

"Now what kind of stupid question is that?"

She repositioned herself to make room for her companion. His closeness did her some good. It reminded her of simpler times, when they were just a bunch of misfits roaming the woods in search of Darkspawn to chop in half.

Things had become complicated too quickly.

"It's a clear night," she mused, looking at the stars over their heads. Little bright lights, echoes from the past.

"Hm," he mumbled in reply.

"Hm what?"

"I don't know how you can stand it," Oghren mumbled.

"Stand what?"

"All that open air, there is so much of it." He pointed up to make sure she got what he was saying. Every one knew humans were a bit thick, they couldn't help it really, their heads were floating too far above the ground.

"The great infinite nothing," she said, gesturing at the sky with her glass.

"I don't like looking up and see the great infinite nothing," the dwarf replied.

"Well, I think it is wonderful."

"Well, I think you're all sodding crazy."

He fell silent and concentrated on digging something out of his pouch, a triumphant look settling on his face as he held out a tiny bottle in front of her.

"Here, drink this, you look like you need it."

"I am all right thank you."

"No – you're not."

She watched him open the bottle, which was always very entertaining. He could open a bottle by just looking at it, but this time he used his teeth instead. A strong odour tickled her nostrils as soon as the lid came off but Oghren did not seem impressed by the smell at all. He just smiled and took a sip before handing it to her. She hesitated for a moment.

"Come on now, it ain't gonna kill ya commander."

"That's what you said last time."

"Aye, and ye'r still here."

He slapped her on the back again, nearly hitting her over the balustrade this time.

"Sort of anyway," she replied, handing him her empty glass so that he could fill it.

"Well 'sort of anyway' is good enough for me commander."


	3. Roses are Red

She was wide awake within an instant. The unnerving feeling in her stomach _made_ her wake up. She could feel the taint inside of her, twisting and turning. The taint in combination with a major headache.

_Darkspawn_, but how and... why? She lay motionless on her back, trying to regain herself and catching her breath before deciding for the next step, the alcohol still made it hard to think.

The fire was still burning on the other side of the room, which meant she hadn't been asleep for too long.

Her breath quickened as she thought she recognized the sound of boots on wood at the other side of the room. There it was again, but closer this time.

She tried to reach for her staff but Maker it was dark, and she was still pretty drunk. Before she could reach it, a strong hand slit over her mouth.

"I would appreciate it if you didn't try to kill me Jaleth."

Her heart nearly jumped out of her chest when she recognized _his _voice. He was close, she could hear his breathing accelerate. His scent... he had been drinking.

No Darkspawn in the castle then, just a King that taken a wrong turn somewhere down the hall. Her King to be precise.

He pulled her close, his lips searching for hers, his body ready and eager.

She shivered as he ran his hand over her collarbone. Her mind was still waking up, but her body was already responding to the fingers that were finding their way underneath her nightdress.

His mouth was feverish when it finally found hers.

"Alistair – I..."

She gasped against his lips when he slid inside her.

She had fantasized about this moment ever since he had torn her heart to pieces at the Landsmeet. She had never stopped aching for him and the thought of him with another woman had driven her to the brink of madness on the many lonely nights that followed.

For a second there was no Queen, no arranged marriage, no Ferelden even. There was just the handsome man that used to love her and if she could only have him this one last night, she would be out of everybody's lifes when the morning came .

"Don't leave me," he panted while he thrusted inside of her, "don't you ever leave me."

And just like that, reality slapped her hard in the face. She was going to leave. She was going back to the Tower first thing in the morning. There was a Queen out there wearing his ring, his name and one day bearing his child.

This was wrong. They were better than this.

She pulled away, hoping he would get the hint and back down. He did.

"It's your wedding night."

He lowered his eyes, his chest heaving rapidly, his emberassement pushing his lust away.

"I know."

He sighed as he stood in her front of her in silence, unable to utter another word for a minute, just looking at her with the saddest eyes she had ever seen.

"I'm so so sorry," he sighed. "I shouldn't have come, I have no idea what I was thinking, not very much most likely."

She couldn't speak. It was like all the air had been knocked out of her lungs. She just stood there, shaking. The Hero of Ferelden, crying her eyes out over a boy she could not have.

Her hand found his and she wrapped her fingers around it.

"Don't go."

"I won't."

She sighed and came closer again to nestle herself in his arms.

"You're the one doing the leaving remember?" he said while he kissed her hair.

"I can't stay."

"I know that."

She tried drying her eyes with her sleeve.

"I'm not crying by the way."

"You appear to be leaking though," he replied.

"Shut up."

"That's no way to address your King, Amell."

"You're right."

She brushed her hair out of her face and looked at him with something resembling a smirk on her face.

"Shut up your majesty."

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><p>He anticipated her to be there when he woke up, but she was gone.<p>

It was morning, but just yet. Dawn was breaking and he could hear the birds outside, going on about their business as usual. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes as he tried to recall the night before.

_He had been a very bad man._

As he glanced at her side of the bed he noticed the handkerchief. He picked it up and noticed something had fallen out of it and was now resting on her empty pillow. It was a rose, and he recognized it within an instant.

It was the rose he had picked for her in Lothering.


	4. On the Road again

**N/A** Rewrite 24th of December, 2013. I chopped the original chapter 2 in two and made some dialogue changes to chapter 4. Let me know what you think.

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><p>"Time to go Jaleth, the horses are getting restless and so is Greagoir."<p>

The first enchanter stepped on the wagon that would take him back to his golden cage at lake Calenhad. He was in surprisingly good spirits.

"Eager to see Greagoir again First Enchanter?"

It had been a beautiful morning so far, the sun gave the landscape a little golden glow and seemed to have a positive effect on the moods of Jaleth's travel companions. They had all been in Denerim for a long time and Irving made no secret of his desire to return home. He missed the silence of his study, the view from his window, hell, he even missed the constant bickering with Greagoir. The First Enchanter was getting old.

"Believe it or not," Irving mumbled, "but I actually miss the old bugger."

She smiled at him while she saddled her horse. It was the kind of smile covering up a world of sadness but nobody seemed to notice it. Except for Wynne, who turned it into a very annoying habit to always notice everything. She sat next to Irving on the carriage. Her horse riding days were over.

Jaleth felt strange when she mounted her horse. She was excited about being on the road again, feeling the wind brush against her face as she led her horse down mountain passes and dirt roads. But she left so much behind.

"Lets head out," the Templar in charge yelled. Jaleth did not recognise his face, nor had she caught his name. There were a lot of people around that she didn't know. The Chantry had send new recruits to replace the Templars that had fallen during Uldred's revolt. Not that there were many mages left to guard.

She glanced over her shoulder one last time. The thought of not seeing Alistair again stung her like a thousand knives. She was going to miss him more then he would ever imagine and she would hate herself for it. It had been worse enough losing him as a lover, but seeing their friendship fade out because Ferelden needed a god damn heir had been even more painful.

Jaleth spurred her horse into motion without hesitation. There was no need to delay her departure any longer, her mind had been set.

"Are you all right?" Wynne asked, when Jaleth caught up with her carriage.

"I don't know," she shrugged, "I'll just pretend he is standing up there somewhere, behind a window, watching us leave no?"

"He probably is," Wynne replied.

"I doubt it."

They rode in silence for a while, with Wynne throwing a sideways glance in Jaleth's direction from time to time. Jaleth had amazing control over her facial muscles, but eyes never lied.

"It will pass, I promise."

"The sooner the better," Jaleth sighed.

"Well perhaps you should get rid of that ring around your neck than," Wynne replied with a wink.

Jaleth started blushing when she felt the piece of jewelry burn around her neck. There was no fooling Wynne, never had been. She was the mother of the pack and mothers always knew what their children were up to, long before they even knew it themselves.

"You can be a very annoying old lady, you know that right?"

"I do my best."

Jaleth smiled, a genuine smile this time, as she gently pushed her horse into a trot.

"I'll go and see what the men are up to."

She had to keep herself occupied and preferably not with Alistair's image on her mind. But it was hard to keep yourself from thinking about someone when your entire world had evolved around them for so long.

She had been smitten with him eversince she had first laid her eyes on him and it had been the same for him considering he had been stammering all the way down to Lothering. Love at first sight, she had only read about it in silly books in the Circle library.

It had been hard being his friend after the Landsmeet. She did not know how to be anything else then his lover. She did not _want_ to be anything else. She had thought she would be able to have a professional attitude towards him, lied to herself that she could stay on as his advisor, but the things happening between them last night; they had given her a final push toward Kinloch Hold.

It was time to annoy some Templars and there was one in particular that caught her attention. The boy that blushed. The boy with the stammer.

"Hello Cullen."

The last time she had seen him, he had been trapped inside Uldred's cage. He looked much better now, very handsome with his green eyes on the road and his wild curls neatly tamed.

She noticed the lines in his face, lines that hadn't been there before. The last couple of years had been pressing down heavily on everyone she had known. The Blight had changed the land forever and people will still recovering.

"Oh uhm hello."

The stammer and the blush were still there. At least some things stayed the same.

He didn't seem very interested in talking, drifting in and out of thought while she rode beside him, stuck in a daydream.

"I am surprised to see you here," he said eventually.

"Why?"

"Because you tried to escape the very place you're heading back to," he replied.

"I was a kid back than."

"You were twenty two."

"Yeah, well, what can I say? I am a late bloomer. And anyway I could say the same about you."

"I bloomed just on time."

"I meant 'the surprised you're here' part."

_Considering you lost pretty much all of your marbles last time we spoke._

"Ah."

She looked at him, he was still staring at the road in front of him. It was a dirt road and really not that interesting but he kept his eyes on it as if his life depended on it. He was in no mood to talk.

"Well, it was nice talking to you," she said, and she spurred her horse into motion again, not waiting for his reply.

He looked up only once, when a little dust cloud broke blocked his view and the sound of silence came crashing down on him like heavy summer rain.


	5. The Long Way Home

**N/A** Because of the rearrangement of some chapters and the fact that FF doesn't allow me to add a chapter in between, the continuity of the story will be a bit wobbly from now on, I will fix this with every rewrite. Rewritten December 24th, 2013. Mainly fixed the dialogue again.

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><p>It was a six day ride from Denerim to the Circle Tower, which meant she would be sleeping in her old tent again.<p>

Life evolved in strange ways. The Blight had been a terrible thing, but she had a lot to be grateful for after it ended. She had gained a family, she had had the chance to escape the Tower and to see the land she had been reading about for years. And now, four months after the Arch demon had been slain, she was alone again and on her way to a place that she had hated most of her life and she was doing so voluntarily.

She was feeding her horse when Wynne walked up to her, in what looked like the similar mood Jaleth was in. The last rays of sunlight gave her a saintlike appearance.

"Do you need some help with that my dear?"

Jaleth shook her head. "It's fine, it keeps me occupied. I felt so completely useless the last couple of days in Denerim picking out dresses and flower arrangements for the wedding."

"I know what you mean."

Jaleth expected Wynne to leave after that but she didn't. She just stood there, with the last bit of sun in her hair, her eyes wandering off in the distance.

"Did you need something?" Jaleth asked as she patted the horse on its neck.

"I don't know, I think I felt a bit out of place down there with Irving and the Templars. They aren't the most chatty people in the world."

"They're Templars."

"Good point."

She handed Wynne a bucket of oats.

"Do you think we've been away from the Tower too long?"

"I am sure we'll be fine."

She watered her horse in silence. The animal neighed softly as Jaleth pulled away the bucket, water dripping from its lips and on to her hands.

"I'm hungry," she said, putting down the bucket and wiping her hands on her tunic. Jaleth hadn't been wearing her Circle robes in ages, or any robes for that matter, not after she got caught in some branches when fighting an Ogre in the Hinterlands. Leliana got her some leather armour after that, which made everyone laugh at first, but had saved her life once or twice.

"I believe Irving made some stew," Wynne nodded toward the camp. "He was even wearing an apron. I swear I have seen it all now..."

Jaleth hooked her arm in Wynne's and they walked over to the fire together where Irving handed them a plate with something resembling a stew on it.

As her body started to relax in the proximity of the flames she noticed the bruises. Her muscles were aching and her legs were sour. It had been a long ride today and Jaleth was no longer used to the saddle. Wynne hadn't been too comfortable on the wooden wagon either.

They shared some water and gazed into the flames as the men around them kept themselves busy cleaning their Templar stuff.

"It is strange being here without the rest of them, don't you think?"

"It is indeed. Although I can't say I mind the absence of Oghren's ale breath and Zevran's inappropriate remarks about my bosom,' Wynne smiled.

"And I am sure you won't miss finding Alistair's smelly socks in your laundry."

"I am sure Irving will sneak his apron in there just fine."

Jaleth smiled as she pealed an apple with a knife that was too big for the job, ignoring the stew for the time being.

"I wonder if we'll ever see them again," she sighed, handing a slice of the apple to her companion.

They ate their stew in silence, listening to the voices of the card playing templars and the crackling of the fire.

As Jaleth watched the faces around her she couldn't help but remisence about the faces that used to surround her.

Morrigan of course, had been the first one to go, even before the Archdemon was slain. She had left like a thief in the night, taking Alistair's unborn child with her. Jaleth hadn't been able to sleep after that night. It was the thought of Alistair with another woman, a woman he hated, at first, and after that her consciounce played up. There was an apostate out there, on the loose, and she was carrying an ancient God inside of her. A secret that would bite her in the arse one day, even if she took it with her to the grave.

Sten had been the second one to go. '_I wish you honour and strength Kadan_,' he had mumbled and after that the giant packed his sword and the little possessions he had and left for the sea. He was to report back to the Arishok. He had gotten more than he had bargained for. She had a hard time remembering the reason why she let him out of that cage since he had made her life hell the first couple of months. But in the end he had been there for her, long after he had his answer.

Leliana went back to the Chantry not long after Sten had left. She needed some peace of mind again and she wanted to help rebuild what was lost in Lothering. It was the first time Jaleth had cried over the loss of a companion. It had been good to see her back at the Castle for the wedding.

She worked close with Oghren when he became Captain of the Guard, which had made the both of them laugh in the beginning, but proved to be an excellent choice despite of everyone's expectations.

Although Alistair remained at her side, he disappeared in an emotional way. Lovers turned into friends, friends turned into aquintances.

Zevran was the last to go when he left this morning, a little while before she had. He had not said his goodbyes. He hated goodbyes. He just rose at dawn, saddled a horse and rode off into the dusky landscape.

"I am glad you are still here Wynne," Jaleth said while she finished her stew.

"As am I, my dear, as am I."

She slowly got up, having trouble finding her balance but hiding it well enough.

"I will see you in the morning, these old bones of mine need a rest."

"Goodnight," the Warden muttered as she watched Wynne walk off to her tent. The years finally seemed to caught up with her. The fade spirit could only sustain her so much.

As she watched Wynne's slim figure disappear inside her tent she noticed she wasn't the only one watching the old mage. Cullen caught her eye and looked away the minute he realized she was staring back at him. But it was already too late. She had noticed a hint of an emotion that hadn't been there before and it replaced his former compassion and timidness. It was a mixture of loathing and anger.

It was a mixture that came with a frown and smelled like trouble.


	6. On Cheese and Missing Pants

**N/A** Rewritten and cut parts of the dialogue. Alistair was too much of an insecure bastard in the first version. Rewritten December 24th, 2013

* * *

><p>Things in Denerim had just gotten a lot worse. There was this giant headache for starters, he could not find his pants and <em>she <em>had left without so much as a word, dumping his rose on the pillow next to him and breaking his heart in the process.

_Collatoral damage._

He slowly got up, the headache getting worse with every bit of light that poured in through the curtains. There was some throbbing even, he was sure of it, it was right there at the side of his head. He had been drinking _a lot _last night_._

_At least he had found his pants._

He sighed as he glanced through the room. It had been hers ever since they arrived at the palace. Which wasn't _that _long ago, but she had a way of making her surroundings feel like home as soon as she placed her books on a shelf. It was this thing she did.

Not much had changed since the last time he had visited her quarters, she hadn't packed an awful lot of her things. The rug they had bought together in Orzammar was still there, as was her collection of books. He traced their spines with his fingers.

It was unusual for her to leave her books behind. She had been dragging them around with her in a small travel bag all the way from Ostagar and the realization that she had left them here, abandoned to their faith and a shitload of dust, made his stomach turn.

_Either that, or the alcohol did._

He sat on the end of the bed for a while, taking in the room and saying his goodbyes. He touched the sheets they had shared their last night under and a flash of guilt shot through his veins. Being drunk had just been an excuse. He knew exactly what he was doing and there was no sense in hiding behind a bottle of Antivan wine. It just looked so much worse in daylight. Things usually did.

He felt a heavy burden settle on his shoulders. The time for messing around was over. She had made damn sure of that. He was a King now and he had a wife. A wife, a real one. He was just happy that Morrigan hadn't been there to witness it all. She would have had a field day.

He swallowed hard. It was time to get his crowned head out of the sand. Marrying a girl with noble blood was part of the job description. The Fereldan nobility would never tolerate a mage on the throne, not even if that mage had stopped the Blight and united the land against a traitor.

He hadn't been allowed to love her for a very long time but he never got used to the idea that their relationship would actually end. He never expected her to actually leave one day.

He took the rose, folded it back into the handkerchief and put it in his pocket.

The Hero of Ferelden. Just another girl he used to know. But not really, not for a very long time. Fake it until you make it, Arl Eamon had told him. Keep smiling until you forget how to pout.

The weight pushing down on him when he finally rose to his feet was tremendous. It was like the entire nation was riding along on his shoulders. The nobility that would never accept a mage on their throne, the people of Ferelden that adored that same mage up until the point her casting hand started glowing, the Queen that was one day going to bare him an heir.

He turned around to glance at the room one more time and then he locked it. When he turned around with the key in his hand he bumped into another human being. Which was great, considering he just walked out of his rumoured mistress' room.

_What made it even better was that it was the Queen of Ferelden standing opposite of him, straightening her dress after he crashed into her._

"My lady Cousland..." Alistair mumbled as his cheeks turned crimson.

_Theirin_, not Cousland you daft arse.

"My king."

She curtsied politely as he slipped the key in his pocket.

She could probably smell Jaleth on him, he thought, women were good at those kind of things. His cheeks burned. He was busted, red handed and everything.

"I uhm, I came to see if Miss Amell had left already, it seems like she did."

Miss Amell...sounded kind of ridiculous, especially coming from his mouth. _Miss__Amell._

She looked straight through him but remained a composed posture. His wife's expression gave no clues as to her emotional state _at all. _She had been well trained in the ways of court. Something that couldn't be said about him.

"She left half an hour ago, my Lord."

Alistair tried to swallow his disappointment without her noticing, but failed, it got stuck somewhere between his throat and his stomach. He wished she would have at least woken him up just before she left, he could have...

He wasn't sure but it looked like lady Cousland's mouth twitched for a second there.

"As did the other mages and the cocky elf." Now it was her turn to flush. "I beg your pardon, your Highness, it is not my place to comment on the company you keep."

Alistair chuckled. "Well, the elf can be quite an arse, a charming arse I'll give him that, but still an arse."

They both stared at their toes for a second.

"I uhm – I hope your stay has been comfortable so far?"

_Oh for crying out loud, act kingly man!_

"Yes, very nice," she answered. "Everyone has been very kind and accommodating."

A servant passed the two of them, eying them in such a curious way that it made them smile at each other. This was when he noticed the small wrinkles near her eyes and mouth. They were the happy kind of wrinkles and that reassured him a bit. At least she had smiled a lot during her short life.

"Anyway, I was just thinking how nice it would be to be on a – you know – first names base, since we are to be spending the rest of our lives together and all that."

"I agree – Alistair. I'm Elin."

This was progress right? Progress was good.

"It's a nice day for a stroll don't you think?" He held out his arm for her and she took it, without hesitation.

"We could just sneak out for a minute and I can show you where to buy the best cheese in Ferelden. The guards wouldn't even notice we were gone."

He turned his gaze at her, she was in fact quite beautiful, just as Eamon had promised when they were about to meet. Her hair looked like it was very long, gathered in a large braid around her head, and her face was kind and fair.

"Cheese?" she smiled with a spark in her eyes, "I _love_ cheese."

Arl Eamon be blessed, the old geezer was a truly gifted matchmaker.

"Just give me a minute to slip into something less...well noble," she said and he could notice a hint of excitement in her voice. They were about to set of at their first little adventure together. It wasn't quite the 'slay several horrid looking Darkspawn in a barbaric forrest' adventure he used to have with Jaleth, but it would do for now.

He pronounced her name in his head as he studied the way she moved until she disappeared around the corner. Elin.

_Elin._


	7. On Mages and Templars

Cullen was _not _amused.

It was bad enough that he had to watch _her,_ but now they were covered in mist as well, all cramped together on Kester's little boat, freezing to death like the couple of unprepared bastards they were.

Ferelden's autumns were just as bad as its winters, but he had insisted on being a perfect gentleman, handing over his furs to Wynne, watching her being all warm warm and cosy in his outer garments while he wore nothing more than a silly little cloak.

Why oh why couldn't he just be an arse and keep his mouth shut, like the rest of his fellow templars?

He tried to tuck himself away in his thin cloak as best as he could, trying to concentrate on the clouds leaving his mouth and disappearing into nothingness.

And then there was _the other one._

The annoying one that always broke the rules and made him blush like a schoolgirl. And she was sitting right next to Wynne, staring at him with her green eyes, which seemed to watch his every move even when they were directed elsewhere.

And she was as oblivious as always, calmly sitting there with her head on the elder mage's furry shoulder, trying to keep her slim body from shivering while her Mabari wardog rested its head on her feet.

It was hard for him to forget she had been his tormentor during Uldred's attack. Her face had shown up, again and again until he could no longer take it, and then some more. Those lips, whispering all the things he had wanted to hear from them for years, tempting him, poisoning his mind.

_Desire._

It had been hard to look at her again in the flesh, the real her, as she rode up to him being all chatty and good looking and...

He watched her for a little while. She looked cold and stubborn, having refused his cloak when they boarded, saying she was fine in her robes, thank you very much. Her body seemed far from fine right now, but her mind seemed awfully at peace. He wondered why she had chosen to go back to the Tower, as the Hero of Ferelden she could have had a pleasant life at court or in the military, but she choose to go back to the home she had tried to break out of and he couldn't wrap his mind around it.

He was definitely keeping an eye on her.

She seemed to be all right at the moment though. Not much could go wrong in the middle of a freezing lake. She was talking to the old and nosy one, and their conversation seemed light enough for them to exchange smiles every now and then. It were different kind of smiles then the ones he used to extract from her when they were younger. When she had been hanging around the Tower with that blood mage Jowan; the one that would have gotten her killed if Duncan hadn't been there to conscript her.

_Jowan, _it was a name that still haunted his nightmares, like all the other names of mages that died by Cullen's hand. He had been the one apointed to carry out the death sentence after Jaleth had send him back to the Tower. But she did not know that yet.

The close bond Jaleth had shared with Jowan had made him jealous for a long time, until, one day, she started stealing Cullen's attention instead. He remembered it vividly. They had been in the library and he caught her looking at him over her book, pretending to be reading something about elemental magic.

After that he kept bumping into her everywhere. He hadn't thought much of it in the beginning, thought their meetings were just happy little coincidences. It was a large Tower, true, but it was still a Tower and it was hard to stay away from anyone really, even if you were trying your best to do so.

Which he wasn't.

When she started working late in the library whenever he was on duty a bell finally started ringing. His templar training made it that he was suspicious of it at first, but Maker was she beautiful and smart and funny and everything he always wanted.

He swallowed hard and turned his attention elsewhere, a big frown on his face. Kester just nodded at him while the two mages continued their light banter. Even though they seemed to talk about nothing of importance, he could see the bond that had developed between them. He hadn't known Wynne very well, she was always away on some adventure, mostly representing the Circle at court or trying to raise funds, but Jaleth seemed to have gotten to know her well over the last year and a half. She seemed to look up to her, like a child looks up to its parents. Not that Cullen knew what that was like, he never had any parents. They had given him away to the Chantry when he was a baby, and the closest thing to a father he had ever known was – well Greagoir really. Which was kind of sad when you thought about it.

He sighed and buried himself deeper in his cloak as he watched the Tower coming out of the mist in the distance. It looked like something out of a fairy tale with the fog around its foot. There was no way to see the top in this blasted weather but it was there, pointing a finger at the sky while it hid the scars Uldred created inside its stone walls.

They were almost home, or so it would feel again in a couple of years, when the blood would disappear from the walls and order got restored.

_For now, he found comfort in knowing at least the dead bodies would be gone._

He noticed he had drifted off when he felt the boat softly bump into the shore. Kester jumped out to pull it further in as Cullen got up to help Wynne out of the boat. He reached out a hand toward Jaleth as well this time. This seemed to surprise her.

"So you decided to be civil after all?"

He looked for a smile but her face was all seriousness.

"It's in the job description," he mumbled, with a face as straight as hers.

He expected a snappy remark but there was none. Instead she just took his gloved hand, their eyes meeting briefly, and leaped ashore. Her wardog jumped out straight after her, bumping into Cullen while it wagged its tail like a maniac.

Cullen was sure the animal did it on purpose. When he looked back at the beast, he could swear he saw a hint of a smile on its wretched little face.

They slowly made their way to the great steel doors, the shadow of the Tower dooming over them in silence.

Cullen watched Jaleth closely. She seemed hesitant at the last minute, shutting her eyes and breathing in the fresh air one last time before she would disappear behind the great doors again. When the wind came rolling over the lake and into his face a little of Cullen's old guilt came back to him, but only for a second or so. Deep down he knew that the Tower was a necessity, it was for the mages' own good as much as for the good of everybody else. Uldred's revolt had made it painfully clear that mages needed to be protected from themselves now more then ever.

"Are you okay?"

She looked at him with compassionate eyes.

"I'm fine, let's proceed."

The massive doors gave way with a loud screech of the bolts. It took four grown men to open the doors and Cullen was one of them. He couldn't help but to smile as he saw the little drops of transpiration on the faces of the new recruits. He too had been on guard duty at the doors once, just after finishing his templar training. It had bored the hell out of him every single time.

Except when _she_ was there of course, bugging him to let her pass, a sarcastic little smile on her lips.

He cleared his throat and barked a few orders. People started moving around him, luggage started disappearing, faces became sweaty and voices started to merge.

The light pouring into the hallway unsettled him. Usually the hall was dimly lit by candles and it was quiet. Now it was like a marketplace, people running around carrying luggage and new supplies, asking questions which only he seemed to have the answers to.

Five minutes later everyone was inside and the doors were back where they belonged; in their locks. No mages had snuck out and order was restored.

They were finally home.

The first face that approached the travellers was that of the Knight-Commander. A wave of relief washed over Cullen. He had been the one in charge on the road but his mission was accomplished now and no one got eaten, or ripped in half, or turned to blood magic under his watch.

Jaleth seemed less relieved to see the old man's face. Cullen noticed her grip tightening around her bag and the look in her eyes was a firm one, the one she always used to give to Jowan just before he would get the both of them in trouble.

"Greagoir," she nodded.

"Amell," he replied, with a formal nod of his head.

"What's – that?" the Knight-Commander said, taking a quick look at Dog.

"That's a dog, and I would not point your finger at him like that for too long," Jaleth smiled, "he mistakes them for sausages sometimes."

Greagoir was not amused, but he let the matter rest for now. After all, she did stop the Blight and chased a couple of demons out of the Tower. As long as she kept her furry companion away from him, there would be no problems.

He set his eyes on Jaleth again while Dog settled at her feet with a disappointed whimper. No sausages for lunch this time.

"I have to say I was surprised to hear of your plans to return to the Tower."

Greagoir's heavy armour moved with every word he spoke. She used to call him the angry tin man because of it when she was a kid.

"Well this is still my home Knight-Commander."

He looked at her with measuring eyes.

"I assure you it is not the home you remember."

He was right of course. They could already notice it here, two feet away from the main doors. The men that used to stand watch there had been found, shredded to pieces somewhere half way down the library. They only just removed the stains from the walls.

"Jaleth volunteered to help rebuild the order Greagoir, she will help me train new pupils," the First Enchanter explained, patting Dog on the head.

A heavy frown settled on Greagoir's face. It was the kind of frown he put on when he was in disagreement but could not think of any valid reasons to get his own way.

"Well I would love to stay and chat," Greagoir said, "but I have business to attend to."

After the Knight-Commander left it didn't take long before the entire hall cleared out. Everybody had somewhere to go apparently, being terribly busy, except for Jaleth of course. She insisted on helping Cullen and Kester put away the leftover cargo from the boats.

Cullen watched her as she fixed her eyes on the giant Mabari in front of her. She seemed to be talking to it.

"Kester told me you wanted to help," he said, breaking up the conversation she was having with her hound.

She nodded and followed him back to the entrance where a couple of templars were piling up bags.

"We'll take the First Enchanter's belongings first," Cullen decided, "he lives the furthest up."

She smiled at him without an apparent reason to do so, it was an unnerving habit of hers, like she had a secret, or she saw something others overlooked. She took all that she could carry and followed him up.

"I remember you counting the steps whenever you walked up," she said, "you hated these stairs so much."

"You remember that?"

His face seemed to soften, but only for a second.

"I remember a lot of things."

They walked in silence for a little while until he dropped one of his bags and came to a clumsy halt.

"Let me help you with that," she said, swooping the bag from the floor. Dog pushed his way past Cullen when he saw his mistress picking up the bag. The hound had been on her tail eversince they had left Denerim. He nearly knocked Cullen off the stairs.

"Sorry about that," she apologized, "he is used to following me around. It's this thing he did during the Blight and I kind of got attached to him after that."

"It could think of worse things following you around," he mumbled.

She nodded, an amused look in her eyes.

He tried not to smile.

Silence was restored after that, just the way Cullen liked it. It was hard for him to look at her, let alone speak to her.

"It's so silent here," she sighed when they reached the second floor.

The Senior Enchanter's quarters had been the heart of the Tower. This floor never slept. There were always people in the hallway, discussing politics, or magic, or reading books.

"This floor was hit the hardest," Cullen said, trying to avoid her eyes.

It made sense when you thought about it. Demons felt a strong attraction towards the stronger mages. The strongest mages in the Tower lived up here.

"A lot of the senior staaf turned into abominations and the ones who resisted had been taken captive by Uldred or were killed on the spot."

He had a contemplative look on his face, which she had noticed sooner if only he had looked at her while he spoke. It was still very fresh in his mind.

"I am sorry," she said, "it must have been really hard for you."

"You have no idea."

He finally looked at her, realizing his mistake.

"You are not the only one who lost his friends here that day," Jaleth answered, the tone in her voice more calm than she was actually feeling.

His expression changed again, but not in the way Jaleth had expected.

"You are right," he said, "I am sorry."

"It's okay. We all lost a lot during the attack."

He stopped walking and turned toward her, which made her stop walking too.

"I know that the last time you saw me, I wasn't all there."

_Which was the understatement of the year._

"But I don't hate mages."

He started walking again.

"Well you are not particularly fond of them either."

He halted again, looking at her with a dead serious frown on his face.

"It is not my job to be fond of them. It's my job to protect them."

She sighed a heavy sigh and he could almost hear her think. Some things never changed.

"We're here," he said as they reached Irving's room.

"Good."

She dropped the bag on the floor and left without saying another word.

Cullen couldn't help but to smile a little, in spite of himself.

"I guess you're not too fond of us either."


	8. Mayhem in the Greenhouse

"Clearly the old man is out of his mind."

Jaleth brushed a hair out of her face, accidentally smearing some mud on her forehead. She tried focussing on the seeds in her hand but it was kind of hard to do when you had a thunderstorm inside your head.

"Clearly," Wynne said without looking up from her page. She was sitting in the corner of the greenhouse, _trying_ to read a book Irving had lend her.

The greenhouse was Jaleth's favourite place in the Tower. It was also a restricted area because Greagoir didn't like his mages to be around large amounts of glass. Especially the mages that mastered their rock throwing spell a little too well.

"He can't possibly be serious. I am no blighted teacher."

Wynne closed the book with a sigh, there was no point in pretending she would be able to read another word when Jaleth was in a mood like this one.

"I recall a certain someone in camp telling me she wasn't a leader either, or a Grey Warden for that matter. Look at how that turned out."

Jaleth sat back on her knees, with her clothes covered in dirt she looked a lot like what she looked like during the Blight, except for the lack of Darkspawn guts in her hair maybe.

"I didn't really have a choice back then."

She looked up to see Cullen still guarding the door. She sometimes forgot that he was actually there, being all Templar-y and silent. Guard duty had always been a game to her. She used to test him a lot, trying to make him blush or move when he was not supposed to, always placing bets with Jowan.

_Jowan._

The thought of him still made her feel sick in the stomach.

_Jowan the blood mage._

She knew she was sending him to his death when she ordered him back to the Circle and she had still done it.

He was sentenced to death before the Blight had even ended, before she had the chance to see him one last time. The Chantry was swift and strict when it came to dealing with blood mages, even if they redeemed themselves by saving the Arl of Redcliffe's son.

She noticed her hands were shaking. The thought of Jowan still affected her physically. Like the thought of Alistair still made her heart hurt.

She had been too quick to judge when it wasn't her place to judge at all. The world wasn't black and white, and she wondered what would have happened to him if she had only seen the grey in it back than.

Wynne had a preach-y look on her face when Jaleth finally looked up. She did not like the preach-y look and she rarely agreed with it.

"You do not have much choice now either my dear. It was your own choice to go back to the Tower and this is just how things work. You don't want to spend the rest of your days here cleaning toilets now, do you?"

She was quite sure Cullen had moved just now, right after Wynne proposed the toilet thing. She swore she could see a hint of a smile behind those well trained eyes.

"Maker, you are acting like a petulant child. You remind me of Alistair sometimes, you really do."

Jaleth stopped digging, waving the small shovel around while coming up with something to contradict the older mage, but failing miserably.

The truth was that Wynne was right. Jaleth came back on her own accord. She could have stayed at court or could have helped rebuilding the Order, but she choose to go home and the consequences were of her own making.

"Well at least you don't have to clean my socks and fix my shirts, that must count for something right?"

"I suppose it must," Wynne smiled. She opened her book again. "Now if you would focus on that dirt patch again. Those roses won't plant themselves you know."

It went silent after that, but only for a minute or two.

"My apprentice is supposed to be lovely," Jaleth continued, planting her shovel in the dirt again in a desperate attempt to plant the seeds. Planting new life for every life she had failed to safe during the Blight.

"That's great," Wynne sighed.

"But I just wouldn't know what to do with her, you know. What if I fail and she gets her head chopped off during her Harrowing?"

Wynne closed her book with a terrific sigh. She was getting too old for this. It was time to retire somewhere nice, somewhere warm, somewhere where people wouldn't interrupt you when you were trying to read a trashy novel.

Jaleth finally picked up on Wynne's desperation.

"Oh they'll get each other in the end anyway Wynne, they always do."

For a moment there it looked if Wynne was going to throw the book at her. When she decided the book would remain where it was, she opened her mouth once more.

"No but seriously Wynne, I don't know what to do with her. What if she fails her Harrowing because I didn't teach her properly? What if she becomes a blood mage? What if..."

"That risk is ever present. But you can not let fear control you, you of all people should know that. We would all be Darkspawn lunch by now if you didn't."

"I suppose you're right."

She sat there for a little while, playing with the shovel in her hand, pondering, while all of a sudden all the blood seemed to disappear from her face.

"Are you all right?"

"I don't know," she replied. She tried to balance herself on her knees, closed her eyes and tried to focus her breathing until it became too much. A pale stream of vomit slipped through her fingers as she tried to keep it all in.

Wynne rushed up to help her, the book falling from her lap and into the dirt.

Jaleth used her free hand to signal her friend that she was all right.

"You've just ruined a perfectly good book for nothing. I am fine."

Wynne took Jaleth by her arm and raised her of the floor.

"It's probably Irving's damned stew anyway."

"Well whatever it was, it's on the floor now."

Cullen left his post to offer his assistance, which Jaleth declined.

"You should get some rest, " he said.

"I am fine."

"Remember what happened to us the last time you said you were fine?" Wynne replied.

Jaleth poked one foot in the sand.

"All right, all right. Time to retreat then."

* * *

><p>She had slept for half an hour before she woke up again. Sleeping during the day always made her feel a little guilty, like she was wasting what precious time was given to her when there was always something to do.<p>

But the truth was she hadn't had much to do ever since she got back to the Tower.

People were different around her now. Like she was some sort of breakable object. _There was no need for a hero when there was no war left to fight_.

Things got decided without her again and no one seemed to actually need her opinion any more. She had gone from commanding an army to being a chamber plant, or that was what it felt like anyway. Jaleth's world was a world of extremes. She could never just 'be,' she had to be extraordinary. Planting seeds for poultices just wasn't going to cut it.

Maybe training an apprentice would do her some good after all.

She got up and walked to the vanity in the corner. She brushed her hair without looking at herself in the mirror. It was hard to look at your reflection when you didn't recognise the face staring back at you any longer. She could not get used to the lines in her face, the black pools underneath her eyes.

She still hadn't got used to her room either. It was a little different from the apprentice's quarters she used to reside in.

Some things stayed the same though, like the meals in the morning or the gossip in the library. But other things would never be the same again. The silence, the empty hallways, the vacant dorms.

Jaleth sighed, tied her hair together, put on her robes and left the room. The time of moping about the boy that got away was over. She would start building a life again and the first step to doing so was finding that apprentice of hers somewhere in this godforsaken Tower.


	9. The Apprentice

All Irving had done was give her a name and a location.

The name was Helena and the location was the library.

Her apprentice was a bookworm.

She found Helena sitting alone, a book planted underneath her nose and a sheet of paper with some notes scribbled on them next to it. Elemental magic.

The girl was beautiful but not in a obvious way, and she was only sixteen.

She had been brought to the Tower a month before Jaleth had arrived. Her parents had kept her hidden from the chantry quite skilfully, something Jaleth's parents were never able to do.

Jaleth looked at the girl from a distance, glancing at the long brown hair that was tied together in a rather big bun. Her eyes were bright greenish and there were a couple of freckles scattered across her nose. She had something Jaleth longed for, something she had lost somewhere between Ostagar and Fort Drakon. Helena's face was unspoiled, like that of a new born baby on a spring day.

_Not spending most of your early adulthood in ditches, on a ration, fighting Darkspawn every step of the way probably did that for you._

Irving had told Jaleth very little about her apprentice. But she knew that the girl had been brought here after Uldred tore the Circle apart and that her parents had gone through great lengths to keep her with them. This made Jaleth feel good, that there was still unrequited love out there, no matter what came out of that casting hand by accident.

Jaleth took a deep breath before entering the library, bumping into Cullen on her way in.

"Cullen," she said with a nod of her head.

"Enchanter Amell," he nodded back.

Helena looked up when she heard her teacher's name pronounced at the other side of the library. It made Cullen blush.

"Ah there you are," the girl said, not in the slightest bit impressed by the small woman in front of her. She closed her book and got up. "I was worried you might not come at all."

"I was a bit worried about that as well," Jaleth replied. "But I'm here now."

"I expected you to be taller," Helena said, taking of her glasses.

"I get that a lot."

"Yeah," Helena mused, "I guess people like their heroes tall or something. Anyway – when do we start?"

Jaleth shrugged. "Let's just sit here for a while and talk. Would that be all right?"

The girl raised her eyebrows but did not challenge her even though she looked like she wanted to.

Jaleth pulled up a chair and gestured Helena to do the same.

"I want to get to know you a little before we start working together."

* * *

><p>Helena seemed like a nice kid, a bit impatient, but nice. She reminded Jaleth of herself at that age. She had the same curiosity, the same hunger for knowledge. She even displayed signs of the same hopeless romanticism that still ran through Jaleth's veins.<p>

Jaleth liked her, Dog liked her, even the Templar recruits liked her.

Templar hormones were not high on the list of Jaleth's worries though. Helena was sixteen when she started her training. She was bright, but was older than most mages when they started training.

Helena knew it too and it was frustrating her. It was no fun seeing children half her age casting spells she never even heard about. Jaleth could feel her frustration and it worried her.

"So, have you settled in a little?" Jaleth asked, taking the opportunity to build in a little break from studying for a minute. She filled her pupil's glass with water and pulled a handkerchief from her pocket. It contained a chocolate cookie Mrs Hannigan had baked them earlier that week. If you were planning on winning someone over, a chocolate cookie would help you do it.

"I have Ma'am – I think."

She straightened her robes before taking the cookie. Most of it would end up on her lap and she knew it.

"I mean, I still miss my parents, I guess."

"You were with them for a very long time, longer than most children here."

"I guess I was one of the lucky ones Ma'am."

"Jaleth."

"Pardon?"

"Call me Jaleth."

"Oh sure."

The girl went back to work as Jaleth shifted her weight. These wooden chairs were killing her.

It had been ages since she thought about her own parents. She hadn't even realized she had stopped missing them. There were times when she couldn't even remember their faces, no matter how hard she tried. Her memories had been reduced to fragments, smells, sentences, the inside of her mother's long skirts, the sounds of her father's violin.

"My sister is a mage too," Helena said without looking up from her book. "So I guess I have a talented family," she smiled.

"Talented, or just unfortunate."

"You don't see our magic as a gift?"

She hadn't and neither had her parents. Her mother was all too happy to hand her over to the chantry when she started displaying the slightest signs of magical talent. Her father, however, had died protecting her.

"Well don't get me wrong here, I like setting things on fire," Jaleth smiled, 'but I don't like _accidentally_ setting things on fire."

"But you would never hurt an innocent," Helena replied.

"Well, no, not on purpose."

Her eyes drifted off, as did Helena's. The girl never really thought of it that way. Her abilities had mostly seemed exciting – until now.

"That's kind of depressing."

"And here you were, thinking life in the Tower would be all roses and violins."

They laughed as Cullen moved behind them, Jaleth could hear the sound of heavy armour rearranging. He had been so silent up until now that she forgot he was there.

"How did you end up here?" Helena asked.

"Well the same way you did I suppose. The Chantry waltzed in one day and turned my life upside down."

Cullen cleared his throat behind her. She was overstepping her boundaries apperantly. She liked overstepping her boundaries.

"'Mom and dad kept me from the chantry," Helena sighed. "I had started showing signs long before I got here, but after the Templars dragged my sister off to the Tower they way they did, my parents swore they would not let them take another child. My parents were hanged for this."

Jaleth leaned forward. "I am sorry, what?"

"My parents were hanged."

"By the chantry?"

"No, by their friends."

"Why?"

"Because they were afraid."

"Of what?"

"Me."

Jaleth didn't know what to say. The calm tone in Helena's voice when she talked about the ordeal send a chill down Jaleth's spine.

"I am sorry," Jaleth finally said.

"Why? It's not your fault."

Jaleth lowered the tone of her voice when she saw Cullen move again. It was hard enough having a normal conversation between these stone walls, it was virtually impossible to talk about lynch mobs and apostates without pissing anyone off.

"Is your sister attached to the Circle of Ferelden as well?"

"She was taken to the Circle before I was born," Helena replied. "But there was no one here with my last name when I arrived. For all I know she never even made it to the Tower."

_Or past her Harrowing, or past the demons Uldred unleashed on them before they lost their minds._

"Anyway, I like your dog," Helena mumbled.

Jaleth glanced over her shoulder, looking at Dog who was taking a nap in front of the fire place. His life had gotten infinitely better since the Blight ended. There were children here with cookies, warm fires and no Darkspawn jumping down his throat whenever he wandered off to pee in silence. Dog did not care much for the tin men by the doors but at least one could take a piss in peace here.

"So do I," Jaleth replied. "He has been a good friend and sometimes I forget that he's actually a war dog."

She stared into the fire.

"He nearly bit Alistair's hand off once."

"Alistair," Helena repeated. "You mean king Alistair, right?"

Jaleth gave her a quick nod.

It had been a long time since she had spoken about him, or even uttered his name. He had been there all along though, clinging on to her, her ghost from the past.

"It must have been so exciting for you to travel with the king."

"Oh yes, very," Jaleth snorted.

"It wasn't?"

"Well he wasn't very kingly back then. We had to sort of drag him to his throne."

Her expression changed when she remembered the talk they had had a night before the Landsmeet. She knew that he would never forgive her for putting him in the situation he was in. In a way, he never did. He had just stopped talking about it.

"How are we doing on that fire spell?" Jaleth asked, in a poor attempt to divert the conversation.

"You don't want to talk about him do you?"

"No, not really."

Helena had an excited spark in her eyes but she realized she was stepping into uncharted territory. She too liked overstepping her boundaries.

"You loved him, didn't you?"

_No point in lying to a sixteen year old._

"I did, yes, very much so."

"Show me your fingers," Jaleth said.

Helena placed her hands in front of her eyes and wiggled her fingers.

"Now watch mine," Jaleth said.

A little ball of fire started forming in her casting hand, very slowly and very controlled, Helena was drawn to it like a moth to a flame.

"Teach me," Helena said, staring at the little fireball in front of her.

"I will. After you finish reading this chapter."

"I can't concentrate any more Jaleth, we've been at it for ages."

"That's because I want you to pass your Harrowing."

They never really talked about the Harrowing, or not about what the Harrowing actually involved. Helena knew it was some sort of examination, to test her abilities, but every time she tried asking Jaleth about it, it was hushed up like it was some sort of big secret and they would get into trouble even mentioning the word itself.

She concentrated on her book again, but the letters were dancing in front of her eyes. Why read a book when there's a much more interesting story out there on the lips of your Enchanter?

"He must have done something really bad to you," Helena tried again.

Jaleth sighed, shifting her weight on the wooden chair, really not in the mood to discuss her love life with a sixteen year old, or with any one really.

"I – am a mage."

"Thanks for clearing that up," Helena smiled.

"Mages are not supposed to have titles, you know this."

"Yes but he is the king and he loved you back, so I don't see..."

"He was a Templar, I was a mage, he became king, I was still a mage. What do you think would have happened to Ferelden if a bastard king married an evil sorceress?"

"But you're not an..."

She ruffled her fingers to Helena's hair, destroying the neatly arranged bun in a matter of seconds.

"It does not matter kid," she said.

"Now read your book."


	10. For Better or Worse

It went silent again in the library.

Cullen used to like guarding the library. It was the heart of the apprentice's quarters and there was a lot going on if you could read between the lines. Students lips were sealed but that didn't keep them from communicating. They passed around notes, shuffled with papers to get the attention of significant others, wrote poems on the sidelines of their studiebooks. And he had always been there, on the sideline, never part of it but always watching.

Cullen had been there when the screaming started. A collective scream that echoed through the corridor. The faces of the fallen still haunted his dreams; the screams of the children he had tried to safe. They never stood a chance.

His nights were filled with guilt. When he was in the company of his own thoughts, the guilt set in. What if he had done things differently. What if he had been a little faster, a little stronger? Could he have saved more lifes? The ones he was able to get out, the ones that were left standing, they were so few that they could hardly call themselves a Circle any more.

And then there were the memories of a cage. He was trapped in there for days, while his brothers were dying around him. He had never felt more hopeless then he had done during that particular revolt, listening to the screams of the mages upstairs and the Templars downstairs. His sword was of no use against the desire demon in his magic prison.

And then finally, after four days of agony, _she_ waltzed in. She prevented the Circle's annulment, saved both the remaining mages and templars and released him from the his cage while all he could do was insult her, because she had been the reason for his agony and having her sitting only a couple feet away from where he was standing, made him feel like he had never left his cage in the first place.

He glanced at Jaleth. She was resting her head in her hand, wetting her lips with her tongue while a concentrated look settled down on her face. She did her best to prevent her apprentice from setting the furniture on fire.

Guarding her was a curse and a blessing at the same time. He had been mad at her for leaving the Tower, but at the same time he had been as relieved as could be that she got the chance to live a life that suited her better than the Circle life she had been living so far. Having her back in his life was great, even if he would never be able to tell her how he felt about her, even if her face still haunted his nightmares.

Irving was a talented match maker. The young apprentice reminded him of Jaleth when she just got to the Tower, when she was still unspoiled and receptive for the opinions of her elders, long before she got so frustrated and rebelious.

And he didn't like to admit it, but they were kind of entertaining together. It was like Jaleth got a taste of her own medicine. She had always been a bright student but she had driven Irving mad with her questions and her stuborness.

Things were getting interesting even when Helena started probing Jaleth for information about the king.

Jaleth kept throwing looks his way while she tried changing the subject. It had been strange hearing her admit her affair with the king. Everyone had known the king and the Hero had been involved in activities that went beyond the call of duty and did not concern strategy planning or battlefields, but to hear her admit it was something else.

He remembered seeing them together once, after they had released Cullen from Uldred's cage. There had been something in the way he had looked at her when she talked to Cullen about Uldred, something in the way his hand brushed hers when he passed her, when he comforted her without any one else noticing.

But he had noticed. He would have been an ill trained Templar if he hadn't. And even then, when her face had been the cause of his distress, he envied the king. Alistair had been a trained templar, but he had turned his back on the chantry for her, something Cullen could have never done.

Maybe they should have smacked the king around a bit more during his training.

Life was unfair. Who was this ill trained Templar that had swept her away from him anyway? He'd only known her for a couple of months. Cullen had known her ever since they were kids. He had watched her so many times, late at night when she was roaming the halls way past her curfew, when he would let her remain exactly where she was, without her knowing he was right there watching, always with flushed cheeks, always ready, sometimes a bit too ready.

Cullen knew everything there was to know about her. He about her bad habits which he would always soften a little in his reports, he studied her gestures which were a bit clumsy sometimes. He loved the way she smelled, the way she smiled, the way she bit her lip when she read something that excited her. He knew about the trashy novels she hid away in her studying books.

She had forgotten one in the library once, an adventure tale with a female lead. She had forgotten about it when Greagoir had barged in looking for Cullen, surprised to find her there while all the others were already in bed. Cullen had half expected her to rush out, but she didn't. She just frowned, rose to her feet and passed them both by in silence.

She had looked so very much in control when she walked out of there. She was the complete opposite of him. He was a total and utter idiot, stuttering all over the place, blushing like a son of a bitch, waking from embarrassing dreams.

He remembered the speech the knight-commander had given him that night about duty and the Maker. He remembered the disappointed look in Greagoir's eyes. He remembered the shame, the feeling he had failed, like he had put her wants in front of the Order's needs. Greagoir was the closest thing he ever had to a father, and he had let him down. From that point on he would do everything in his power to never let that happen again. He would avoid her whenever he had the chance, he swapped his duties, worked graveyard shifts, everything to get away from her.

He had been a fool back then.

And part of him still was when he watched her read, heard her speak, saw her smile – _she did have the prettiest smile – _and things he considered long lost were coming back to him, choking the life out of him with such force that he actually considered leaving Ferelden to serve the Chantry elsewhere.

And then she mentioned the king and he noticed Devon was listening in as well.

"I knew mages were naive things," Devon said in a low voice, "but really."

"Excuse me?" Cullen answered.

"The king used her as a bed warmer and she speaks of love. She is a mage for Andraste's sake. Like any man could lo.."

Cullen cleared his throat before the younger Templar could finish his sentence.

"It's not very polite to listen in on conversations."

"Well isn't that what we're here for Ser? To prevent them from spreading radical ideas amongst the pupils and such?"

"It would take one very stupid mage to do so with two Templars breathing down her neck."

Devon's cheeks turned a crimson red as he mumbled a soft apology.

Helena was silent, for now, but there was something in her eyes that made it clear to him that this was not the end of it. Jaleth was still feeling uneasy, he could feel her being upset. And an upset mage was a dangerous mage.

He watched her light her hands on fire. It was a beautiful sight, the light of the flame reflecting in her eyes.

And then Carroll tumbled in, sweating like a pig.

"Ser Cullen, the knight-commander wants you in his office this instant." Carroll was taking the time to suck in as much air as possible in between sentences. He looked like he had ran all the way up there. The knight-commander had a way of making new recruits run like that.

Before Cullen could ask what the fuss was all about the young man turned toward Jaleth.

"You too miss."

"I'm kind of teaching my student important stuff here," she argued, but the look on his face made her change her mind.

"Fine Carroll, I will go."

She apologized to Helena, got up and watched Cullen tick his finger against his chin as they walked out. Jaleth smiled in private when Carroll burned up and wiped the remains of a chocolate cookie of his chin.

* * *

><p>"<em>Darkspawn<em>, Sir?"

Cullen looked at Greagoir who was signing some papers at his desk. The old man was just sitting there, continuing his work while he handed Cullen and Jaleth their assignment.

"Is there something wrong with your hearing knight-captain?"

"No sir, but I just thought..."

Greagoir rearranged a pile of papers while he talked about the two dozen missing templar recruits. He looked tired, like the days were too short for the problems that kept piling themselves up.

"Your my best man knight-captain, that is why I will send you to investigate."

"Sir?"

"Miss Amell will go as well."

Cullen looked at Jaleth, who had been awfully quiet the entire conversation. She had been watching Greagoir, observed him, like he was some kind of rare animal she had spotted in the wild and needed to catch in order to preserve his species.

"Yes, I don't like it either but Irving insists on sending a mage. Since she had dealings with Darkspawn before, she would be the logical choice. Unless you object of course."

Greagoir looked up from his paperwork and Cullen shook his head. He couldn't help the feeling he was being tested.

"Good."

"You two do realize I am actually in the room right?" Jaleth asked.

Both men continued to ignore her, each for their own reasons.

"If you think it is best, Sir," Cullen mumbled.

The room went silent.

"Well off you go," Greagoir said, waving a hand at the door.

Cullen waited for Jaleth to make a move, gesturing a 'ladies first' movement and walking out behind her. She gave him a dirty look as she headed to the exit.

"If you think it is best Sir," she mumbled, repeating his words.

They did not speak until later that night, when he pulled a sword on her while she released a stone fist in return.


End file.
